• Creative Writing,  My Writing,  writing

    Zilch

    At this point there is nothing left for me to do. All the plans have been made and all I can do now is just wait for things.  And hope that they all pan out the way that I want them to in my head. Which is almost too much pressure. Maybe that’s where all of those bridezilla stories come from. Because there is just all this pressure on everything. Because you do everything that you need to do for the day but you have no way of really knowing if it will all work out on the day. I know that I picked a date that would have the…

  • Creative Writing,  My Writing,  writing

    Youngest

    The shadow always seems to get bigger with each passing day at this rate, which is kind of unnerving to be honest. Because I didn’t really think that was actually possible anymore. I thought that they had reached their capacity. But apparently not. There are just new things that they find to be proud of, even when what has actually happened if really not all that impressive in the grand scheme of things. They did well on a test. Or they got into another uni. I got into 5. All 5. Including THE two, which I only applied to because I felt this intense sense of pressure about it from…

  • Creative Writing,  My Writing,  writing

    Xpress

    I still hate the name. I told her that when she first suggested it to me. I told her that when she got the signs made up for the building. I told her again when they actually went up on the building. I don’t think I’ll ever stop telling her. It’s become our thing. Even now when I’m standing behind a bar watching people push and shove to get someone to notice them in the seas of people all congregating there, all chatting between themselves weirdly perfectly content with the fact that it’s taking ages for them to be served, I hate the name. Clearly the flyers that I helped…

  • Creative Writing,  My Writing

    Welcome

    ‘Welcome to Harvard…’ Reading those 3 letters on the top of the page through my blurry vision almost doesn’t feel real. I can’t get the letter to stop trembling slightly in my hands and so it’s hard to convince myself that I am reading the words correctly. It’s hard to believe that all the hard work actually appeared to pay off. All the tears and late nights. All the endless cramming of numbers and words about books that I didn’t even like. All the stress induced panic attacks and sleepless nights worrying about what would and wouldn’t be on a test that I never had any hope of predicting anyway.…

  • Creative Writing,  My Writing

    Undone

    It’s almost impressive the way that he still manages to have an affect on me. How I know when he has entered a room because the energy just shifts for me. Like it’s charged now. Thick. Heady. Like I don’t really know what to do with my hands anymore. They just won’t settle anywhere comfortably except in the folds of the back of his shirt or in his hair, I imagine. I can’t find out in this particular setting. Which I think he is doing on purpose. This is his thing. That I kind of have to be at because I’m supportive, but I knew it would prove to be…